Breakwater
by msof57
Summary: Ellen Whitehouse boards the Titanic desperate to return home to Brooklyn and continue her life in her family's bookstore, and perhaps to win the affections of her fellow coworker. But when she meets Harold Lowe, suddenly things don't seem so simple anymore. OC/Lowe
1. Prologue: Ellen

**Disclaimer: All characters provide to their rightful owners with the exceptions I have made in this story.**

**RATE AND REVIEW! Keep me updated with how you like the work so far! I will be updating this story every week or so now that I have the summer to write and get ready for college, but I will only know what to improve if you tell me.**

* * *

She sat alone in the drawing room, surrounded by her lady's dresses strewn over various pieces of furniture. She stared at the expensive silk in her hands and tried to concentrate on her stitching, but her hand was shaking too much. With a heavy sigh, she set her needlework down on the nearby table and stared out the window.

_America,_ she thought.

The Eiffel Tower was only a block away from the hotel. It glimmered in the afternoon sun, sending reflections of light onto the surrounding buildings. She had never envisioned herself like this, standing in a hotel room above the streets of Paris. She was a humble girl from midtown Brooklyn, never straying into any of the other sections of New York, yet here she was.

She brushed a brown lock from her forehead. It seemed unreal that she was here in the very heart of Paris. It was much dirtier and run down than what she had imagined. She had pictured small cafes immersed in ivy and gentlemen with white suits greeting them as they checked into their hotels. Instead she was surrounded by beggars and poor children who wandered the streets asking for money. She preferred to stay inside, where old men wouldn't stare at her when she walked down the street and the beggars tugging at her skirts when they saw her pockets filled with her lady's ribbons and gloves.

She stepped back from the window, quietly laughing as she looked at her nose print on the glass. Taking the corner of her apron, she wiped it off and looked below as she heard a car horn. Her lady and her new husband emerged from their expensive Pierce-Arrow, laughing as a bellhop followed after them carrying the many gifts they had bought on their trip to town. She saw her lady press a hand to her rounded belly, glancing from side to side as if to make sure no one had noticed the action before slipping inside the hotel's doors.

_She's just a girl_, she thought. _She doesn't know anything about having children when she's still a child herself!_

She remembered her lady asking her to loosen the stitches on her dress around the waist. At first she thought it was because of all the rich European food they all had been eating, but after helping her undress the past few weeks and watching her stomach stretch, she knew the reason her lady's honeymoon was coming to a sudden stop.

"John will want the baby to be born in America, you know," her lady had confided in her when they had strolled the streets of Vienna together earlier that week. "We plan to be back in the States by the end of the month. John has tickets for the _Titanic_ for us to return to New York. Won't that be such an exciting way to return to America?"

_America_, she had thought.

They had been abroad for nearly half a year touring ancient Egyptian ruins and getting a taste of all the major European cities. She had seen and experienced more in the past few months than she had in her entire life. Before they had left, many of her friends had remarked how lucky she was to be traveling with her lady on her honeymoon. However, she had been extremely nervous. She had never ventured farther than the Brooklyn bridge growing up and now she would be traveling to over ten countries in less than half a year!

The sound of the door to the foyer opening interrupted her thoughts. Her lady strolled into the sitting room, arm in arm with her husband and proudly showing off her new bracelet dangling from her wrist.

"Oh, Ellen!" she exclaimed, breaking arms with him and running towards her maid, her extravagant skirts billowing around her. "We'll be back in America in just a few short weeks! Oh, it's going to be such a delight to return to New York!"

Her youthfulness shone through her excitement. Although she wore a wedding ring and was pregnant, her eyes gave away that she was still a child. Her husband stood silently in the doorway, chatting with a steward before waving him away and embracing his bride.

"Home at last!" he exclaimed, kissing her cheek, setting her off into a fit of giggles.

_America,_ she thought. _Home at last_.


	2. Prologue: Harold

**And if your strife strikes at your sleep**  
**Remember spring swaps snow for leaves**  
**You'll be happy and wholesome again**  
**When the city clears and sun ascends**

**~"Winter Winds" by M&S**

* * *

Harold

He sat on the edge of his bed, studying his hands. They were cold and dry, the skin rough due to the harsh wind and seawater.

_America_, he thought.

His room sat by the bay, the scent of the sea coming through his window. He barely smelled it anymore. All he knew was the sound of the crashing waves and the bright reflections off the water. They had been a comfort to him when no one else was and the family he had always longed for.

He hadn't slept in days, for the preparations for the ship's maiden voyage had everybody on edge. The press and passengers were expecting the world from the largest ocean liner ever built so everything had to be perfect. No loose bolts, everything thoroughly oiled, not even a piece of coal out of place.

_America_, he thought.

He strolled over to the window and looked below. Although it was early, the port of Southampton was already bustling with life. Angry shouts from the fisherman's wife rose above the buzzing of the crowd and he smiled in amusement as he watched her. She must have been beautiful at one point but she'd grown fat and bitter from hard work and child labor. She pointed a pudgy finger at her husband who was tying a parcel together for a customer. He cowered away from her stare, not daring to talk back. From the window above, he shook his head and walked away.

_America_, he thought.

Although he loved his work, this was not the life that had been set out before him. He grew up in a wealthy home in a small village just outside of Barmouth. His father was a businessman and his mother had an expensive dowry on her head. His childhood was happy, naïve even, never questioning his future as an apprentice to his father… until his first holiday to the ocean.

He had been mesmerized, struck with awe at the beauty of how the water and sky seemed to blend into one. He would never forget the first moment the water touched his bare feet and the sand squished between his toes. It was when he took in his first breath of the ocean that he decided he was not going to follow in his father's footsteps. The sea was calling his name and he would become a sailor, a true man of adventure!

He shook away the memories. _America_, he thought.

He poured water into a small bowl and washed away the grime from his face. He dried himself and when he looked into the mirror he hardly recognized himself. He looked like a ghost, pale and worn out. He was dressed in just his undergarments and could see the faint outlines of his ribs through the material. The past winter had been one of the coldest and most miserable he could remember. Work was slow and the pay was slow to come, but then again there wasn't much food to buy even if you had money. His friends always joked about him being the skinniest aboard the ship but he was beginning to wonder if they were right. A thick stubble had appeared on his cheeks and his brown hair had grown long and shaggy. His arms were lined with toned muscles from fishing and steering all these years and his body ached from the hard work the past few weeks. He went to his bed and put his undershirt on.

_America_, he thought.

Despite the fact that he had sailed to nearly every imaginable place in Europe and Africa, this would be his first voyage across the Atlantic. He yearned to visit the harbor in New York and Boston, to see these grand ships his American friends had bragged about. He had plans with a good friend to spend a few days lobster fishing in Maine before returning home. What would these Americans think of him, a Welsh man, among their sailors and fishermen?

_America_, he thought. _Another adventure_.


	3. Not on Holiday

**You see the world in black and white**  
**No colour or light**  
**You think you'll never get it right**  
**But you're wrong. You might.**

**~"Low" by Coldplay**

**Please rate and review! The more reviews I get, the sooner I'll put up the following chapter!**

* * *

Ellen

She had never seen so many vehicles in one place in her life as they made their way through the bustling port of Cherbourg. Her lady with her husband strolled in front of the servants, admiring the ocean and exchanging nods with anyone who made eye contact. As they stepped onto the loading area of the dock, they were engulfed in an enormous shadow. Her lady gasped and pointed about them. Ellen strained her neck to follow her lady's pointing finger.

There stood _Titanic_, mighty and proud in all her glory. Everyone around her was staring at the ship just as everyone in her party was, mouths slightly open and excitedly moving about to get a better view.

Her lady turned and beamed at her. "Isn't it marvelous? Have you ever seen a bigger ship in your life?"

Her lady, Madeleine Force Astor, was now the wealthiest woman in America. She had just married John Jacob Astor, a real estate investor, a little over six months ago. Ellen had worked for the Force family for almost three year before the marriage but her life had been drastically changed when the couple announced their proposal. For the first time since she'd been born, Ellen wouldn't be living in Brooklyn anymore. Mr. Astor owned some wealthy property in the middle of Manhattan, where they would reside when they returned to America. Before the marriage, she had worked in a wealthy apartment with a handful of other servants, but as she learned from Mr. Astor's valet, she was now just one of dozens of servants that would be buzzing around in the Astors' household.

She tore away from her thoughts and glanced up once more at the ship. Never had she imagined herself, a simple ladies maid, to travel in such luxury.

"Ellen!"

She jumped slightly, bringing a hand to her chest as she turned to see who had startled her. Madeleine's nurse, Mrs. Endres, was staring at her with crossed arms. She was a bitter, middle-aged woman with her black hair always pulled tightly back in a bun with a pair of spectacles placed just below her piercing green eyes. She often scolded Ellen and Mr. Astor's maid, Rosalie, about spending too much time talking and not enough time working.

Ellen avoided her gaze and picked up her skirts to race after Madeleine, who was already halfway up the ramp to board the ship. She gasped in awe when they entered through the ship's doorway, surrounded by lush furniture, elegant paintings, embroidered curtains, and men all around clad in uniform. A handsome officer with a thick Welsh accent took their tickets and directed them down a first class hallway.

"Ellen," Madeleine said, peeling off her delicate white gloves as a steward appeared to lead them to their rooms. "Be a dear and hold these for me."

Ellen, who was in the middle of giving her third class ticket to the officer, immediately dropped her small rucksack to take the gloves from her lady. When she picked up her things and collected her ticket back, she noticed that the officer was staring at her with an amused expression on his face. She glared at him, as if to tell him to mind his own business, before hurrying after her lady to her first class room.

The Astor's suite wasn't comparable to any first class room she had ever seen. An elegantly decorated bedroom, a private deck, a delightful sitting room complete with a marble fireplace and crystal chandelier, and their very own private bar. Madeleine immediately went to the bedroom to rest her feet. Ellen and Rosalie busied themselves in unpacking their lady's things, all under the supervision of Mrs. Endres, of course. Mr. Astor stood in the hallway talking to another well-dressed gentleman. Ellen moved into the sitting room, pretending to fill a small wine bucket with ice so she could overhear their conversation.

"You're not trying to snoop, are you?"

She smiled, recognizing the voice of Mr. Astor's valet, Mr. Robbins. She turned around, blushing as his sparkling blue eyes stared into hers. He was young for a valet although he was ten years her senior. He always looked smart with his blonde hair slicked back and shoes always polished and shining. They had been introduced when Madeleine and Mr. Astor announced their engagement a year ago and she found that as the more she had gotten to know him during the honeymoon, the more she found she fancied him.

"Oh, mind your own business," she teased, returning to the bedroom. He followed her, careful to stay on the other side of the room and she continued to unpack. She felt his eyes on her and her cheeks continued to turn a deeper shade of scarlet. Rosalie and Mrs. Endres were in the bathroom, whispering excitedly as they examined the expensive soaps and oils by the washtub.

"Funny, isn't it?" Mr. Robbins asked, carefully unpacking one of Mr. Astor's suits. "How after such an expensive honeymoon and buying the most luxurious suites on the biggest ship in the world, they still managed to stick us with third class tickets."

Ellen shrugged as she took out one of Madeleine's pearl necklaces. "We're not a part of the family, Mr. Robbins. It's a part of being in service!"

"Right it is!" Mrs. Endres said, entering the bedroom. "And it is _not_ in our place to talk about our rooming situation with our lord and lady so close by!" Ellen and Mr. Robbins both bowed their heads in shame, exchanging nervous looks with one another.

Mrs. Endres's eyes widened, almost panicked as she looked about the room. "Why," she said breathlessly, "Where is Lady Astor?"

Ellen almost laughed out loud. In all the excitement, they had all forgotten about the reason why they were on the _Titanic_ in the first place!

"She's on the deck," Rosalie said from the bathroom.

Ellen put down the string of pearls and walked out onto the private deck. Madeleine stood by one of the open windows, dreamily staring out onto the ocean. Her large, white hat hid her face from view but Ellen could see her soft, blonde curls blowing out from under it from the sea breeze. She had a hand on her belly and was stroking it. Ellen couldn't hear much over the howl of the wind, but she thought she heard Madeleine whispering to the baby inside her belly.

"M'lady," Ellen said as a breeze whipped through the open window, sending Madeleine's hat to the other side of the room. Her lady laughed and scurried to pick it up, but Ellen beat her to it.

"You should rest, m'lady," Ellen said, helping her sit on one of the brightly painted lounge chairs. "You're going to need all the strength you can get. That baby is only going to get bigger and hungrier!"

Madeleine laughed and fanned herself with the large, oversized hat. "You're a dear, Ellen," she said in a singsong voice. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to get plenty of rest but I don't like people treating me like I'm incapable of taking care of myself! It makes _me_ feel like a baby!"

Ellen smiled. "Will you at least let me get you a glass of water? Your cheeks looked flushed!"

"Very well, then," Madeleine replied, winking as she unbuttoned her coat.

She curtsied slightly and walked back out to the sitting room where Mr. Astor and the other gentleman had already settled themselves in two of the plush armchairs. She searched for the water pitcher in the cabinets on the other side of the room, careful to be as quiet as possible.

"It's magnificent, Bruce," Mr. Astor exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat to grab his drink. "The luxury is exquisite! The best ocean to liner to sail the Atlantic, by far!"

The other gentleman carried a smug expression buried within his dark eyes. His hair was slicked back and he wore a thick, neatly trimmed mustache on his upper lip, which every now and then he would reach up and stroke thoughtfully.

"It is from _your_ compliments, J.J., that I know my ship has been a success!"

"Miss Whitehouse," Mr. Astor said, turning towards Ellen. She blushed being called into attention and lowered her eyes. "Let me introduce you to the owner of the White Star Line, Mr. Bruce Ismay."

Ellen nodded, careful to only lock eyes with the man for a second. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ismay." The gentleman acknowledged her with a bored expression on his face. Usually, most people would take offense to Mr. Ismay's greeting, but in a world where servants were supposed to be invisible to their lord and lady, Ellen simply poured a glass of water and left the room without a second thought. She returned to the deck where Madeleine still lay in the lounge chair, dozing off as the sun poured through the open window.

"Here you are, m'lady," Ellen said, handing her the glass of water.

"Thank you El—"

Madeleine paused before clearing her throat and correcting herself. "Miss Whitehouse, I mean."

"Lady Astor," Ellen said, a smile playing on her lips. "There's no need for all this formality! I was always Ellen before in the Force household."

"No, no," Madeleine said, taking a sip of water. "You're a proper ladies maid now and I'm going to respect that! And besides, if you're going to call me 'Lady Astor' instead of Madeleine like you always have, I'll be sure to keep calling you 'Miss Whitehouse.'"

Ellen shook her head. "No m'lady, I am in no position to speak to you in such a familiar way. Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to help unpack."

After making sure Madeleine had a blanket to keep her warm, she went out into the first class hallway where her rucksack lay by the Astors' suites.

"Rosalie," she called. "Let's go and find our rooms in third class!"

Rosalie emerged a few minutes later, excitedly buttoning up her coat. "Third class, first class… it doesn't matter to me! Being on _Titanic_ is so exciting!"

Rosalie was around Ellen's age, perhaps a few years older. She had worked in the Astor household as a ladies maid to one of Mr. Astor's sisters, but after the engagement was announced she was maid a second ladies maid to Madeleine after Mrs. Force complained that Ellen would have too much to handle by herself. Rosalie had fiery red hair with freckles that decorated her nose and she was often mistaken as Ellen's sister because their eyes were the same shade of blue. Ellen was glad to have someone around her age to talk to at last instead of the other maids in the Force household who had always been at least ten years older than her. Rosalie was also American, a close bond the two girls shared considering Mrs. Endres was Russian and Mr. Robbins was from Liverpool.

The two girls began wandering about the first class decks, pointing to various doors and stairways to try and find their way to the third class rooms. Then stumbled upon a door that led outside and they were immersed in a crowd of people milling about the decks, trying to find their way around. The _Titanic_ was slowly pulling away from the Cherbourg port and they went to the railing to wave goodbye to the handful of people below still lingering on the port. As Ellen leaned over the railing, she began to get dizzy from how high up there were and leaned back, bumping into Rosalie.

"Oh, Ellen!" Rosalie said, holding onto her hat as the wind blew about them. "I'm so happy right now! We're finally going home!"

Somewhere above them, where many of the ship's officers were standing, a whistle blew, signaling the _Titanic_ was leaving port. The people around them, who appeared to be third class passengers, began pressing towards the rails to wave their final goodbyes. Ellen felt panicked as she felt so many people closing in on her.

"Rosalie!" she gasped, searching for her friend's red hair.

Somewhere in the crowd, Rosalie's freckled hand appeared and pulled her towards the back of the deck. After she caught her breath, she looked up into Rosalie's glowing eyes and the two girls broke out into a fit of laughter.

"I'm the king of the world!"

It was hard to hear over the buzz of the crowd around them, but there was no mistaking that someone was yelling from the bow of the ship. Ellen craned her neck but was too short to see around the large men standing around her.

"Did you hear that?" she asked Rosalie, standing up on the nearby bench to get a better look.

On the bow, two young men were standing at the very front of the ship. One of the men with blonde hair was standing on the railing, arms outstretched as he shouted towards no one in particular. Ellen hid a laugh as Rosalie saw whom she was pointing towards. They almost began to mock them when they felt a buzzing beneath their feet.

"Looks like they've really revved up the engines," Rosalie said, hopping down from the bench. Sure enough, they saw the tugboats drop their attachments to the mighty ship and watched as _Titanic_ turned and began to head out towards the blue Atlantic. Ellen wanted to watch the ship head set out to sea for a moment longer but Rosalie insisted they go and put away their things.

"Besides," she had told her, "There will be plenty of opportunities later to wander the decks… and chat with the handsome officers!"

The two of them followed a long series of staircases and hallways until they found themselves among the third class rooms.

"G-62," Ellen muttered, looking at the number on their tickets. "Rosalie, help me look. We've got to be nearly there by now."

They moved out of the way for a Chinese family passing through when the red head exclaimed, "Here! Give me the key!"

While Rosalie fumbled with the lock, the two men who had been up at the bow of the ship arrived at the door next to theirs. The blonde bumped into Rosalie, sending the key tumbling to the ground.

"Aw, shit," he said with a thick, American accent. Rosalie gasped, taken aback by his language and sending a smile to Ellen's lips. It had been quite a while since she'd heard anyone swear.

"Sorry miss," he said, bending down to pick up the key. "I keep forgetting this isn't Wisconsin."

As he handed Rosalie the key, instead of thanking him she stared at him with wide-eyes.

"Jack Dawson," he said, flashing them a brilliant smile. "Looks like we're going to be neighbors, huh? This is Fabrizio."

He pointed to the man standing behind them. He had a crooked smile and a dark complexion. He took off his hat and bowed, as if to imitate their maids' attire.

"I'm Ellen," she said, brushing off Fabrizio's rudeness. "This is Rosalie."

Both men nodded before opening the door to their room. "Well, see ya around!" Jack said, "Maybe we can eat dinner together sometime."

"Maybe," Rosalie said with sarcasm, sticking her nose in the air as he closed his door.

Rosalie finally got the door unlocked and they both walked with hesitation into the room. It was quite small and simple, but clean nonetheless so Ellen didn't mind. In fact, it felt more luxurious than any room Ellen had been in. The walls were blindingly white from the fresh paint, the linens on the bed were crisp, and even the cheap carpet beneath her feet cushioned her steps. She set her things on one of the top bunks while Rosalie peeked her nose into one of the small closets.

"Nothing much but some lifebelts," she remarked, shutting the doors. The door to their room flew open with a bang, startling both of them, and Mrs. Endres and Mr. Robbins marched inside, bags in hand.

"Sorry," Mr. Robbins muttered. "I supposed I don't know my own strength!"

Ellen and Rosalie both blushed upon realizing that all four of them would be staying in the same room. The idea of Mr. Robbins in his nightclothes crossed Ellen's mind and she blushed furiously, fanning herself so no one would notice her change in color. Rosalie must have been thinking the same thing, for she was biting her lip to fight back a giggle. Ellen knew Rosalie was fond of Mr. Robbins just as she was from the way she would fix her hair or pinch her cheeks just before he walked into a room. At this very moment Rosalie was smoothing her skirts, taking much effort to nonchalantly show off the broach her mother had given her. Mr. Robbins caught Ellen's eye for a moment, winking, before putting his back on the lower bunk across from hers.

"Oh, no you don't, Mr. Robbins!" Mrs. Endres exclaimed, causing him to jump and bump his head. "You will sleep on the top bunk! That way I'll know if you're up to no good in the middle of the night!"

Mr. Robbins coughed, his face turning a bright shade of red as Ellen and Rosalie burst into a fit of laughter.

"Hush," Mrs. Endres said, her Russian accent growing more apparent as she grew angrier. "I'm a very light sleeper so don't think I won't know if you two are up to trouble as well. We represent the Astor household on this trip. We are _not_ on holiday so I expect all three of you to be on your best behavior."

As she began to unpack, Rosalie came close to Ellen. "Light sleeper indeed!" she giggled. "We won't be able to sleep because of her snoring!"

They began laughing once more before Mrs. Endres scolded them to be quiet.


	4. Blue Eyes

**Miles and miles in my bare feet**  
**Still can't lay me down to sleep**  
**If I die before I wake**  
**I know the Lord my soul won't take**

**~"Barton's Hollow" by The Civil Wars**

**Rate and review! I will be updating about once a week, maybe more depending on how many reviews I get!**

* * *

Harold

Harold Lowe had never felt so overwhelmed as he did the morning of April 10, 1912. From the moment he wretched himself from his bed he hadn't been off his feet. In all of his years at sea as an officer, he had never been ordered around as much as he did today. As he set a length of rope near one of the lifeboats, he tried to remember when he last sat down. Southampton had been a near-miss this morning, with _Titanic_ coming mere inches from colliding with the _New York_. The captain had commented this indicated a bad voyage was ahead but the rest of the crew was in high spirits as they watched the first of the passengers begin to explore _Titanic_'s many rooms. However, many of the officers were on edge as they tried to keep the excitement in the crew underhand. Even Joe Boxhall, the fourth officer aboard who was usually joking and teasing was solemn and quiet.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned on the railing, overlooking the decks below. Many of the first class passengers that had boarded in Southampton were already milling about, enjoying the many luxuries _Titanic_ had to offer.

"Mr. Lowe!"

He turned around, standing at attention as he recognized the voice. Lightoller, the second officer, was strolling towards him, a pleasant look on his face.

"Mr. Lightoller," Harold said, tipping his hat. "This ship's fast, eh? I've never seen a liner move like this one."

The other officer smiled. "Quite right, Mr. Lowe. The White Star Line certainly out shined themselves with this one."

An awkward silence fell between the two men as they watched the sea fly by beneath them. In the distance, they could see the outline of the Cherbourg shore coming into view.

"Ever been to France, Mr. Lightoller?" Harold asked.

"I can't say I have," he replied, smirking as he took off his hat. "I'm sure you have, no doubt. The Welsh certainly know how to get around."

Harold laughed. Lightoller was an Englishman from London and he was curious how he had found his way to the sea seeing as he lived inland for so long.

"Mr. Murdoch has requested to see you below decks so you can help board first class passengers."

Harold couldn't help but let out a small groan. Lightoller chuckled and said, "I know they all have their knickers in a knot, but I've heard the Astors, the wealthy Americans on honeymoon, will be boarding here. Perhaps you'll get a glimpse of them, or even a nice tip!"

By now, the _Titanic_ was drawing very near to the port and Harold tipped his hat at Lightoller before heading down below deck. Although he had spent nearly a month exploring the ship before its maiden voyage, he still found himself getting lost.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath as he found himself in the same hallway once more. It was embarrassing, but he had to ask a stewardess which way to the first class halls. When he got to the area where the passengers would be boarding, he found a chaos of stewards and officers bustling about, arranging potted plants and straightening paintings before the door was opened.

"Ah, Mr. Lowe!"

Murdoch, the first officer on _Titanic_, was walking towards him along with a short, stout man with a thick mustache. The gentleman looked small and weak compared to the proud and tall officer.

"Lowe, I'd like you to meet the owner of the White Star Line, Mr. Bruce Ismay."

Harold tipped his hat to the small man who stared at him with a smug expression. A steward approached the three of them, hands stained with shoe polish. "Mr. Ismay, we're ready to open the doors."

Murdoch checked his pocket watch. "My, my, did we really dock so quickly? Alright lads, go ahead, let them in."

Mr. Ismay immediately began shouting orders, telling stewards where to go and what to do. He disappeared into the first class hallways, a herd of people following behind them.

"He certainly acts like he's the captain, doesn't he?" Harold commented as Murdoch and he began to open the door.

"Well, we've got to let him think he's important," Murdoch replied, a twinkle in his eye. "Look, I've got to be on the bridge with the captain. Can you stay here and check tickets and direct passengers to their rooms?"

"Right, right."

When they got the door open and the ramp in place, Harold settled himself next to the open door and straightened his jacket. Men in funny suits, women dressed in heavy furs, and little girls with bows in their hair all shoved their tickets under his nose when they approached him. He studied them all carefully. Although many of them carried smiles on their faces, he had seen their scowls minutes before about the mud on their shoes or the sea breeze knocking their hats from their heads. They were all so self-centered and materialistic, just as his father had been.

"There they are!" a steward beside him whispered, pointing below.

"What?" he asked, straining to follow the young man's finger.

"The Astors, of course!"

At last he saw them. He recognized John Jacob from the photographs he'd seen in the newspapers. He was exactly as he looked in the pictures: tall, handsome, perfectly trimmed facial hair… he looked every part a billionaire. His wife was on his arm, very young and pregnant. Her blonde hair was stylishly curled and peeking out from her very large hat. She had a hand on her belly the entire way up the ramp and only took it off to hand him her ticket. Mr. Astor was quite warm but didn't take much notice of the luxuries _Titanic_ had to offer. Harold guessed his own house must be more extravagant than this. Mrs. Astor flashed him a flirty smile as he handed her ticket back. When he looked over her shoulder, he saw four servants following behind them. Many families had only brought along one or two, but four? They must certainly be rich to pay for all those tickets.

A young girl with curly brown hair and the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen stepped forward to present her ticket to him. She wore a dull, gray dress that matched the uniforms of the other servants. He was about to take it when he heard Mrs. Astor say, "Ellen, be a dear and hold these for me."

She was holding out her fine, white gloves. The girl immediately shoved the ticket in his hand and dropped her own small bag to take her lady's gloves. Harold almost let out a laugh from her reaction. He found the life in service to be odd. He couldn't imagine a life where you served someone else, attending to all of his or her needs. To him, it would be like caring for a baby, not a wealthy adult. Many of the people he had met in service were old, having been a part of it for all their life. He couldn't imagine where this young girl would be in twenty or thirty years.

The girl shot him a dirty look in response to his stifled laugh as she took back her ticket. She quickly picked up her bag and ran off behind the wealthy couple, soon disappearing behind a crowd of stewards.

He mindlessly accepted tickets from the rest of the first class passengers until he realized that the ramp was being pulled away from the door and there were no more passengers to be boarded. He felt at ease once the engines hummed to life and they left port without incident. He traveled up to the bridge, encountering more wealthy and famous passengers on his way. Boxhall and sixth officer Moody were at the bridge when he arrived, both calmly sipping tea as they watched the _Titanic_ rocket across the ocean.

"Harold," they both said as he stood beside them, admiring the view as well. The three of them had grown close since they met a week ago. They were the youngest of the officers on board. The others preferred to talk about politics and the economy, but the three of them preferred to talk late into the night, drinking and talking about adventure and their plans after reaching America.

"It looks like it's smooth sailing from here until New York," Boxhall commented.

"Captain says Ismay is pressuring him to go faster so we can make it in by Tuesday," Moody said, a boyish grin crossing his face. "That would be nice, I could get back to London by Easter and surprise Mother."

The two officers laughed at his comment. A sudden weariness grew over Harold and he leaned forward on the nearby railing, squinting as the setting sun peeked through the clouds.

"Finally, some peace and quiet," he muttered.

Boxhall nodded. "I hear you, mate. I haven't been this busy in quite a long time."

"It'll feel good to sleep tonight," Mood reassured, clapping Harold on the back.

"Not yet," Harold said, standing up and straightening his uniform. "My rounds start at eleven tonight."

The two officers hissed through their teeth. "That's rough, mate," Boxhall said. "Mine start in half an hour and I thought that was bad enough."

Harold smirked. "Thanks for the encouragement."

Suddenly, Mr. Murdoch appeared from the bridge, looking the most relaxed Harold had ever seen him.

"Ah, Mr. Lowe," he said, tipping his hat. "Moody, just the two lads I was looking for!"

Boxhall drained the last of his tea and shuffled his feet, looking from Murdoch to the other two officers.

"Mr. Boxhall," Murdoch said, a smile playing on his lips, "If I am correct, your rounds start in just a few moments…?"

"Yes, sir!" Boxhall said, putting his cup down and running off. They all laughed at his eagerness.

"I'm going to need to ask a favor of you two," Murdoch said, strolling to the railing to admire the sunset. "I've asked Mr. Pitman and Mr. Boxhall to patrol the second class decks just as Mr. Lightoller and myself will be patrolling the third class decks. I'm asking you two to patrol the first class areas, mainly because it's probable that's where the least amount of problems will occur during the night. Just keep an eye out for anyone in the lower classes to be sneaking about. If one of the first class passengers asks for a favor, please abide. These passengers are the most important to please and their opinions go straight to your paycheck. Am I understood?"

"Yes, sir," both men said. Murdoch nodded, walking back into the bridge.

"It's a pity we're not allowed to mingle with the passengers," Moody said, taking off his hat to shake out his shaggy hair. "I mean, did you get a look at the girls in first class? We're on a ship full of bloody Vogue fashion models!"

Harold laughed, but as he did, the girl with the striking blue eyes came to his mind.

"Did you get a good look at the Astors?" Moody asked, as if reading his thoughts. "The Mrs. Astor is very good looking, a bit too 'round' for my tastes if you know what I mean, but she's not that much younger than−"

"Don't even think about it, mate," Harold said, strolling off to head to the first class decks. Moody followed close behind, looking at the decks below to admire the finely dressed women. "Unless you want a baby on your hands, I'd suggest staying away from Mrs. Astor."

Moody grumbled something as he pulled his coat tighter around his shoulders. Now that the sun was setting the chilly breeze around them reminded them that it was still early spring and winter was still lingering. Somewhere on the deck below, a horn was blown, signaling that first class dinner was served.

"I'm starved," Moody said as they dashed inside to escape the wind. "I wish they served our supper this early. I don't eat until after dark."

Harold's stomach growled, as if to give a response to what Moody had just said. The two officers rounded a corner and found themselves in the first class hallways. They continued to walk until the reached the top of The Grand Staircase, the finest attraction _Titanic_ had to offer. Harold had been in the room many times before the ship and set sail, but now that it was filled with finely dressed passengers and the room was lit up from every corner, it truly took his breath away. The wood shone under the glass dome above them, the ticking of the clock quieted by the buzz of chatter, and the cherub at the base of the stairs looking up as if he was seeing heaven. He was overwhelmed by the beauty, quietly admiring while passengers bustled around him.

"Look!" Moody said, elbowing him in the side and snapping him out of his thoughts. He stood by the railing, pointing below where you could see into the first class dining room. Many passengers weren't seated yet, chatting with one another while more and more people entered the room. Moody was pointing to a couple near the foot of the stairs. A man with dark, neatly slicked back hair and brown eyes stood chatting to the captain. He wore an expensive suit, a gold pocket watch just visible behind his buttons. He carried a smug expression on his face as he talked, as if he was in the middle of a bribe. The woman on his arm seemed bored, almost annoyed. She was young, with fiery red hair and full, red lips. Her dress clung to her curves in all the right places and he could tell Moody found her very attractive from the way he was looking at her. Although she was finely dressed and wore jewels in her hair, she seemed very distant and unmoved by the conversation. She stared blankly ahead, as if she was unaware the two beside her were talking at all.

"That's Caledon Hockley," Moody said, pointing at the gentleman. "He's the son of the big steel tycoon back in The States." He paused, changing his gaze to the young woman.

"_That_," he said, with dreaminess in his voice, "Is Rose DeWitt Bukater. My god, mate, isn't she gorgeous?"

"First Mrs. Astor, now her," Harold said, shaking his head, "Give it up mate. It's not happening, plus what bloody girl would look twice at you?"

Moody playfully punched him, but sighed as if he ignored Harold's last comment. The clock behind them struck 7:00 and the rest of the lingering passengers moved into the dining room, including Mr. Hockley and Miss Bukater.

"I'm heading to my quarters," Harold said, buttoning up his coat. "I want to catch some sleep before my rounds. See you in the morning."

Moody waved him away, too busy staring after Miss Bukater to give him much notice. Harold dashed back outside into the cold and checked into the officers' quarters. By this time the sun had already set and he nearly tripped up the dark stairs in his haste. When he reached his warm room and shut the door, he let out a sigh of relief to be out of the cold. His numb fingers began fumbling with the buttons on his coat until he gave up and pulled it over his head. He set his hat down on the nearby desk and looked up to see his reflection in the mirror. His hair was blown about and his cheeks red with cold. His eyes had dark circles and his entire body looked worn to the bone. Too lazy to change into his sleepwear, he collapsed in his bed, mindlessly setting his alarm clock for his rounds.

As soon as he was settled under the covers, he snapped the curtains around him shut, engulfing him in darkness. He sighed happily as he rested his head on his pillow, feeling the effects of the long hours from today. As he turned on his side to go to sleep, he couldn't help but see the blue eyes of the girl in service. Her face stayed in his mind as he succumbed to his weariness.

* * *

**Rate and review! Thanks guys! :)**


	5. A Dance

**There's a possibility,**  
**All I'm going to get is gone with your stare.**

**~"Possibility" by Lykke Li**

**Sorry this chapter is a little long! Please let me know how the pace of the story is so far. Although this story is a romance, this time I'm really trying to focus on setting up the characters and their back stories, but I don't want it moving too slowly either.**

**The more you rate and review, the more quickly I'll put up chapters! Love you guys, and enjoy!**

* * *

Ellen

After the Astors were finally settled and Madeleine had gotten a chance to explore the first class decks, dinner was announced for the first class passengers. Ellen and the other servants had barely gotten any time to unpack their own things before they had to report back to the Astors' suites to dress them for dinner.

Rosalie was laying out Madeleine's dresses on her lady's bed. Ellen knew for a fact that many of these gowns were worth more than the bookshop her family owned back in Brooklyn. They were lined with expensive jewels and made of the finest silk and velvet in all of Europe.

Mrs. Endres's voice could be heard from the bathroom, scolding Madeleine about how she hadn't been eating enough protein for the baby. Mrs. Endres was the only servant who could get away with scolding the Astors. She was older than Mr. Astor and had worked for the Force family before Madeleine had been born, earning her quite a lot of respect from their lord and lady. They both emerged from the bathroom, Madeleine wrapped in a robe and her hair hanging in wet strands around her face.

"Lady Astor," Rosalie said, stepping aside to reveal the dresses on the bed. "I've laid out your gowns. When you choose I'll help you dress."

"Thank you, Rosalie," Madeleine said, snatching a piece of chocolate from a nearby table. She nibbled on the edge, circling the bed as she examined the gowns. She pointed at a deep purple one and Rosalie scampered to the other side of the room to pick it up. Ellen was left alone as the three other women disappeared into the bathroom to dress Madeleine. She began to set out combs and pins on the nearby dresser in order to do Madeleine's hair once she was ready. As she did so, she heard a light tap on the bedroom door.

"Well, hello," Mr. Robbins said when she opened the door. He was leaning on the doorframe with his award-winning smile on his face, twirling a black necktie between his fingers. She felt heat creep to her cheeks and butterflies in her stomach as he stared at her with those gorgeous blue eyes.

He cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts. "Is it decent of me to come in?" he asked, looking over her head. She nodded, holding the door open wider. He strolled to the other side of the room and opened one of the small cabinets, looking through it.

"What are you looking for?" she asked, her voice coming out as a squeak. Oh, she hated how nervous she got around him. Why couldn't she be confident and flirty like Rosalie?

"I've managed to misplace Lord Astor's white ties," he said, craning his neck as he looked into a higher cabinet. "I was hoping I'd come across one in here-"

The door to the bathroom flew open, causing both Ellen and Mr. Robbins to jump. Rosalie walked in, carrying Madeleine's robe. A smile crossed her face when she saw Mr. Robbins and color rose to her cheeks as well.

"Victor!" she exclaimed, tossing Madeleine's robe onto a nearby table. Ellen rolled her eyes and let out an angry sigh. Would she ever get a moment alone with him without Rosalie interrupting?

"Ah, Rosalie," Mr. Robbins said, flashing her one of his irresistible smiles. "Would you happen to know where Lord Astor's white ties are? I've seemed to have lost them."

A mysterious look crossed Rosalie's eyes. She began twirling a bright red curl that had fallen out of her bun and bit her lower lip.

"Lord Astor's white ties?" she said innocently. "I think I remember seeing them in the cabinets you're looking in."

"Bloody hell," Mr. Robbins grumbled, lowering his voice so Madeleine and Mrs. Endres in the bathroom wouldn't hear. "If they're not here then I don't know where they are! Lord Astor _and_ Mrs. Endres are going to murder me."

"Wait a minute!" Rosalie exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "I _do_ remember where they are!" She scurried over to the small chest at the foot of the bed and opened its lid, revealing Mr. Astor's white ties. "Silly me," she said, smiling at Mr. Robbins. "I forgot I moved them here in all the bustle this afternoon when we were unpacking."

Ellen shook her head. She knew Rosalie had hidden them on purpose from the smile she was wearing at he bent down to collect the ties.

"Thank you, Rosalie," he said, standing up and giving her a small kiss on the cheek. "I honestly don't know what I'd do without on you. You keep my head on straight!"

The moment his lips touched her cheek, Rosalie's face turned a bright shade of scarlet. Ellen couldn't help but feel jealousy surge through her as she watched the kiss, but as she turned to continue laying out Madeleine's hair accessories she knew Mr. Robbins would see through Rosalie's flirting games.

Rosalie's giggles drew her from her thoughts. "Oh, Victor," she said. "Stop! Mrs. Endres might-"

"Rosalie!"

Mrs. Endres had emerged from the bathroom, shutting the door quickly behind her. "I can hear your two voices echoing around that huge bathroom. Our duty to the Astor household is to provide service and comfort to their lives. We are _not_ to be a nuisance."

Rosalie and Mr. Robbins, both wide-eyed, nodded vigorously. Ellen bit her lip, fighting back her laughter. Mrs. Endres was staring sternly at the other two, both stiff from her gaze. Mr. Robbins took a side step away from Rosalie, trying to sneak back to Mr. Astor.

"And as for you, Rosalie," Mrs. Endres snapped, Mr. Robbins freezing where he was. "You will address Mr. Robbins by his proper name. Call each other what you may like when you're not working but in the presence of our lady you _will_ use formality!"

She turned on her heels and marched back into the bathroom. Ellen couldn't help but smile at Rosalie's expression as Mr. Robbins left the room and disappeared around the corner.

"Oh, the nerve of her!" Rosalie hissed, scooping up the remaining gowns into her arms. "It's a crime to have any fun around here!"

"She's right though," Ellen said, brushing some chestnut curls from her eyes. "The Astors paid for our tickets. We're not on holiday and should be acting like we're at home."

"Good God, Ellen," Rosalie said, a smirk on her lips. "Before we know it, you're going to turn into Mrs. Endres!"

Ellen pursed her lips just as Mrs. Endres did when she was upset and sent Rosalie into a fit of laughter that had her rolling on the bed.

After fixing Madeleine's hair and sending both of the Astors to dinner, the servants finally had some free time to themselves. Ellen was busy putting away the last of Madeleine's jewelry when she noted how quiet the giant suite was. She peeked her nose into the sitting room to find it empty and abandoned. The others must have finished before her and gone downstairs to get ready for their dinner. Her stomach growled and she rushed to put the last of her lady's things away, eager for a warm meal.

She locked the Astors' suite behind her, nodding every now and then to a steward or a finely dressed man or woman. She brushed powder from the skirts of her uniform and descended down to third class. Other passengers were giving her funny looks as she passed them. It was clear she was not a stewardess as her uniform was gray while theirs were black. She looked at her feet as she entered the third class hallways. She bustled past a large group of Irishmen, many of them laughing as they tried to steady their sea legs. As she looked past them, she felt her foot catch on something. She nearly went tumbling to the floor when a pair of strong arms caught her.

"Aye, miss!" a voice with a thick, Irish accent cried. "'M so sorry!"

When she stood up and straightened her skirts, she found herself looking into a pair of bright, green eyes. A well-built man stood before her with a crooked smile and a mop of strawberry blonde hair. "Ya all right?" he asked.

"Fine, fine," she said, waving him away. She nudged her way past and continued down the hallway, her cheeks red with embarrassment. She heard the man call after her but ignored him, her stomach encouraging her to hurry. She burst into her room, panting slightly, and found Rosalie staring at her with wide eyes, slightly amused by Ellen's state of being.

"It's rowdy out there, isn't it?" she asked Ellen, turning back to the small mirror in the room to slip a pin into her hair. "There are people on this ship from all over! I've already met two gentlemen from Germany and the girl across the hall used to live in Venice-"

"And I was unfortunate enough to meet a group of Irishmen," Ellen said, ripping off her cap and throwing it on a nearby chair. She sat down on Rosalie's bed, sighing contently as she did so. It had been her first opportunity to put her feet up all day.

"Dinner is served in ten minutes," Rosalie said, standing up and giving herself one final check in the mirror. "I'd hurry up if I were you!"

"Yes, yes," Ellen sighed as Rosalie rushed out the door. She was left alone and last and she closed her eyes and began to nod off. She jolted herself awake before she fell asleep and leapt off the bed. She took of her uniform, standing in just her undergarments, and searched through her bag for a suitable dress. She settled on a pale blue one that Mr. Robbins had said complimented her eyes. She slipped it over her head and glanced at herself in the mirror. It was very rare she saw herself out of uniform lately. The brightness and color of the dress seemed to make her looked washed out. She had heavy bags under her eyes and her hair was in disarray from her cap. Her neat bun had turned into a mass of curls sticking out from every direction. She sighed and began pinning them back into place, carefully leaving a few loose so they would frame her cheekbones. She smiled and bit her lip, imagining what Mr. Robbins will say when he sees her. She sneakily reached into a nearby drawer, taking out Rosalie's small box of rouge, applying it generously to her cheeks. When she stepped back and looked at herself, she was much more pleased. She looked pretty, something she did not usually think of herself as. She grabbed her nearby earrings and slipped the small hooks into her ears before running out the door.

When she entered the dining hall, many passengers were already eating, hundreds of conversations in different languages buzzing all around her. She walked over to the line leading to where you received your tray of food. She stood behind a couple of gangly teenagers who were speaking Hungarian more quickly than she thought possible. When she reached for her tray of food, she turned to the side to grab a knife but knocked over the beer on the person's tray next to her.

"I'm so sorry," she exclaimed, cursing herself for being so clumsy. "I'm usually not-"

She looked up into a pair of light green eyes and a crooked smile. She blushed when she realized it was the same man she had tripped over earlier that day.

"Well, well, well," he said, laughing. "Looks like we meet again, love."

She looked away, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Mister…?"

"Tommy Ryan," he said, offering out his hand. She shook it tentatively before grabbing another tray and handing it to him. She picked up a glass of beer, toasting it in the air before saying, "Mr. Ryan."

"God," he laughed as she set it down on his tray. "Such formality! Are ya sure ya belong in steerage, Miss…?"

"Ellen," she said, "Ellen Whitehouse. And I'm here to serve my lady, Mr. Ryan."

"A maid, eh?" he said, picking up a second glass of beer as they moved down the line. "Looks like yer gonna need one of these, Miss Ellen," he said, offering it out to her.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head vigorously. "I don't drink, but thank you."

"C'mon sweetheart," he said, flashing her a smile. "It'll help ya loosen up. We all know what a pain in the arse all those rich folks are!"

Ellen cleared her throat loudly, offended. "I said _no thank you_, Mr. Ryan. And I hope you'll learn to not judge others before you know them, especially others who have the power to throw you off this ship!"

She picked up her tray and marched off, more curls falling from her bun as she did so. She spotted Rosalie and Mr. Robbins in the corner, trays empty and chatting away. She plopped down next to Rosalie, slamming her tray down and startling both of them.

"Oh my," Mr. Robbins said, lighting a cigarette. "Somebody's angry."

Ellen clenched her fists, more curls falling into her eyes. "I just can't believe how judgmental some people can be!" she shouted, causing others around them to turn and stare.

"Shh," Rosalie said, putting her hand on Ellen's arm. "Don't get all worked up about it. We don't have to deal with them for very long."

"Indeed," Mr. Robbins said, blowing out a stream of smoke.

Ellen sighed and took a bite of the green mush on her plate. _Broccoli, perhaps?_ she thought as she chewed thoughtfully.

"Where's Mrs. Endres?" she asked, swallowing.

"She finished nearly fifteen minutes ago," Rosalie said, fixing the pins in her hair. "She went upstairs to go to bed."

"Already?" Ellen laughed. "It's only eight o'clock!"

The other two shrugged and they fell silent, listening to the conversations around them. A group of drunken men got up from their table beside them, fresh glasses of beer sitting on the tabletop. Rosalie, with a smirk on her face, got up and grabbed one of the glasses.

"Rosalie!" Ellen cried as she sat down again and took a sip. "Do you know what Mrs. Endres would do if she saw this? You know we're not supposed to drink on the job!"

"Relax, Ellen," she said, snagging another beer and placing it in front of Mr. Robbins. "We're here on the largest ship in the world, soon to return home working for the richest couple in New York for the rest of our lives. We might as well live a little!"

The two others clinked their glasses together, Mr. Robbins chugging down nearly half of his drink. Somewhere on the other side of the dining hall, a man stood on a table with his violin and began to play. Within minutes, a handful of other men with instruments joined him and many passengers began to dance. The three servants clapped along to the music, laughing and watching the excitement. When Rosalie finished her beer, she stood up, knocking over her chair, and grabbing Mr. Robbins hand. The two of them began to dance, twirling in circles, and Ellen couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy when she saw their hands entwined and Mr. Robbins's other hand on Rosalie's waist.

The music grew louder and the men all around here were beginning to drink more now that there was music and laughter to drown out their drunken cries. Ellen had never had a taste for alcohol except for the occasional glass of wine. She felt out of place next to all the passengers drinking around her. A handful of boys who must've been at least five years younger than her were passing around a bottle of rum at the next table over. She watched the dancers with enthusiasm, hoping no one would notice she didn't have a drink.

"Ellen, right?"

She looked beside her and saw her neighbor, Jack Dawson, leaning back lazily in his chair. A cigarette was pursed in his lips and he flipped his blonde hair out of his eyes. He looked like he'd had a handful of drinks already.

"Mr. Dawson," she said, smiling. "Quite a party, isn't it?"

He smiled too, putting his cigarette out on a nearby tray. "Not used to parties?" he asked, coming to sit next to her. She stiffened, smelling the alcohol on his breath, causing him to frown slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said, placing his hand on her arm. "I didn't mean to make judgments, you just look like a… I don't know… a person with a secluded lifestyle."

She laughed. "I suppose you're right," she said. "Those of us lucky enough to be in service don't get much time to ourselves. I can't even remember the last time I was at a party."

A smile broke across his face. He stood up and offered out his hand.

"Care for a dance?" he asked, flexing his hand towards her. She stared at it, wide-eyed, her heart pounding in her chest.

"I- uh," she stammered, trying to find the right words. But before she had a chance to come up with an excuse, he grabbed her hand and next thing she knew his hand was on her waist and they were spinning around the room, being cheered on by the other passengers.

"You're a great dancer!" Jack yelled above the music. "It's like you've been dancing your whole life!"

"My family and I used to go to the county dances in Brooklyn every summer," she exclaimed, beaming as they twirled between tables. "My brother taught me!"

"Well, he did a fine job," Jack said, spinning her. The music ended and they broke apart, clapping towards the musicians as they bowed. Another song began to play and Ellen began to realize how tired the dancing had made her. She was breathing heavily and wiped sweat from her brow.

"I'd ask ya to dance a second time," Jack said, breathing heavily himself, "But I think I need another drink."

Ellen nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Dawson."

"Aw, stop with the formality," he said. "You need to play the role of a maid all the time!"

She shook her head. "I do when I'm getting paid as one at this very moment."

He kissed her hand as she curtsied slightly. She watched him walk to a nearby table, taking a long drink from another beer. She leaned onto a nearby banister, pushing curls from her eyes. The band was growing as more and more passengers showed up with different instruments and by now nearly all the passengers were up and moving about. She wondered how everyone had so much energy. She was exhausted before she came down for dinner!

"Ellen!"

She spun around, quickly straightening her hair as she recognized the voice.

"Mr. Robbins!" she exclaimed as he walked towards her, hand outstretched.

"Ellen," he said, stumbling over his words a little. It appeared he'd had a couple more drinks since they'd last seen each other. "You look so pretty tonight. I know I've told you I love the color of that dress and your hair looks so pretty… I couldn't resist asking you if you wanted to dance with me."

She immediately felt her cheeks flush with color as his bright blue eyes stared into hers. His usually tidy was now falling into his eyes as he wiggled his fingers at her. He had taken off his suit jacket and vest, and one of the suspenders was hanging off his shoulder. Despite all that, he looked stunning nonetheless and she smiled as she put her hand into his. With a little more force than Jack had used, he pulled her onto the dance floor and she found herself immersed in the sea of dancers once again.

"You just look so beautiful tonight, Ellen," Mr. Robbins said, giving her a flirty smile. Her left hand rested on his chest, feeling his muscles flexing every time they spun. His undershirt was the only thing left covering his chest and it was almost translucent. His perfect lips were mere inches from hers. If only she could stand on her tiptoes and…

She shook these thoughts from her head as she felt him place a hand on her waist. She saw Rosalie from the corner of her eye dancing with another man. When she saw Mr. Robbins's hand on Ellen's waist, her eyes narrowed and Ellen couldn't help but wear a victory smile on her face.

"Thank you, Mr. Robbins," she giggled as they spun around a group of chairs. "You always look so handsome so I take that as a very meaningful compliment!"

As they danced between standing passengers, he put his hand on the small of her back and pushed them closer together. She could feel the heat from his hand through her thin dress and felt herself blush once more. In the past year since they'd known each other, this was the physically closest they had ever been.

Mr. Robbins was tall, standing at least half a foot over her and Ellen was tall herself. She was used to seeing him in the standard valet uniform: a freshly pressed suit with a matching tie and handkerchief. But right now, out of uniform, his eyes lip up when he laughed and he kept having to push blonde strands of hair from his face. He had the most perfect square jaw Ellen had ever seen and his hands felt so strong against her figure.

"Ellen?"

Mr. Robbins was staring at her, eyebrows raised. The music had stopped and the people around them were clapping and cheering on the band for another song. Ellen hadn't even notice and had continued trying to twirl, causing her to bump into him.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just got so caught up in my thoughts. It's been a very long day."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the side as the music began once more. The ship swayed beneath them and Mr. Robbins toppled over onto a nearby table, spilling the drinks onto the floor and causing howls of laughter from the women sitting nearby. Ellen helped him to his feet and he shook out his sleeves which were now drenched in beer.

"I guess I've had one too many," he said, laughing shakily as he sat in a nearby chair. "I do apologize, this very unlike myself."

"It's fine," Ellen said, taking out her handkerchief and wiping drops of drink from his brow. "Thank you for the dance. It's been such a long time since I've had such fun!"

He smiled and closed his eyes, her hand lingering on his cheek. She felt butterflies erupt in her stomach from his reaction and paused for brief moment before tucking her handkerchief back into her pocket and trying to hide her smile.

"Well, I better head up to bed," she said, fumbling with a curl as she tried to fight off her nerves. "I'll see you tomorrow morning!"

Before she had a chance to change her mind, she picked up her skirts and bolted from the room. She burst into laughter as soon as she reached the stairwell and clutched her sides as she leaned against the railing. She had been so uncertain for so many months of Mr. Robbins's affections for her and tonight had finally given her proof that he felt something in return.

She bounded up the stairs, reaching for the door that led to the decks outside. She fumbled with its latch for a few moments when the door flew open. She was greeted with the cold, biting April wind as she wandered about the deck. It was empty with all the third class passengers still in the dining hall. She walked over to the railing and looked out at the sea. It shone like black glass with the reflection of _Titanic_ on its waves. They must've been several miles from the French shore by now and Ellen stared in awe at the number of stars that were visible. Her dress swirled around her legs and she shivered in the cold, cursing herself for not remembering to bring her coat.

She sighed and let the pins out of her hair, watching her curls drape one by one over her shoulders. She let the pins fall from her hands into the sea below and smiled. She was tired of feeling exhausted all the time. She had lost a significant amount of weight before Madeleine's wedding because of all the preparations that had to be made and she still hadn't gained it back because of the honeymoon. She felt thin and weak and longed for the day when she could get out of service to finally do as she pleased.

Voices above her tore her from her thoughts. She looked up and saw a group of officers on the deck above chatting, probably on their rounds. Most of them ignored her, continuing on as if she wasn't even there.

Except for one.

He caught her eye and lingered for a moment longer than the rest of his fellow officers. His hat was in his hands and his short, brown hair was being blown about in the wind. For a second, it looked as if he might say something, but he put on his hat and ran to catch up with the others.

She stared after him, puzzled by his actions until she recognized his features. He was the handsome officer who had boarded them earlier that day! She stared at the deck above her, head slightly tilted before the cold wind urged her inside.

When she entered her cabin, she tiptoed to the closet, checking to make sure Mrs. Endres was asleep. Mr. Robbins and Rosalie weren't back yet and she didn't expect them for another hour or so. It was only nine thirty but Ellen was exhausted and needed rest. She slipped into her nightgown and quickly braided her hair back as Mrs. Endres snores echoed around the small room. She curled up underneath her covers, glad to be warm once ore. She found herself tossing and turning for the next half an hour, unable to sleep and unable to get the officer's face out of her mind.


	6. An Unexpected Passenger

**Your heart's a mess  
You won't admit to it  
It makes no sense  
But I'm desperate to connect  
You can't live like this**

**~"Heart's a Mess" by Gotye**

**I apologize for the chapter being late this week. I've been busy getting ready to head off to college in about a month so it's been busy busy busy for me!**

**Just for fair warning, don't expect another chapter until Wednesday of next week. I'm flying out by myself this weekend to Texas to visit childhood friends and family and won't have an opportunity to type up the next chapter!**

* * *

Harold

Harold awoke with a start to the sound of his alarm clock. As he sat up, he smacked his nose on the beam just above his bunk.

"Damn," he muttered, snapping the curtains under his bed open and reaching for his clock. Where the hell had he put it? He dipped his head below his bunk where he found it near the back corner, reading nine thirty. He still had an hour and a half before his shift started but he wanted plenty of extra time to ensure he knew his way around the first class decks.

As he was lacing up his shoes, he heard a sharp rap on his door. "Yes?" he called, fumbling with his laces.

Moody popped his head into his quarters, hair slightly windblown. "Murdoch has asked to see all the officers on the first class decks at ten," he reported. "Something about wanting to 'make sure we all know our duty' on our nightly rounds."

"Always has to make sure we're doing our 'rightful duty,' doesn't he?" Harold laughed, standing up to button his jacket.

Moody grinner. "The old loony just needs to realize-"

"Moody!"

Murdoch's booming voice pierced its way into Harold's room, causing both the young officers to jump.

"What the hell are you doing? I told you to deliver a message, not have a conversation! Your rounds aren't over for another half an hour!"

His lecture continued as he walked past the room, continuing to bark orders over his shoulder. Moody rolled his eyes and muttered something along the lines of "See you later!" before disappearing into the bustle on deck. Harold braved himself for the cold wind before he opened the door. His rounds wouldn't be over until three in the morning so he was in for a long, cold night.

He found himself wandering along the bridge, staring into the dark sea. The weather was perfect for sailing. The waters were calm with a steady breeze, rustling his hair and clothes. If the weather kept this up, they'd meet Mr. Ismay's goal and reach New York by Tuesday. Like himself, many of the crew were unsure what to do with themselves now that many of the passengers were inside. A handful of first class passengers came out and onto the deck every now and then, but they only lingered for a few minutes before dashing back inside.

He saw Lightoller and Boxhall in the distance, relaxing in the first class lounge chairs.

"Gentlemen," he greeted when he reached them. They nodded back and stood up, stretching their tired limbs.

"Long day, chaps," Lightoller said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I'll be thankful when this is over so I can go inside into the warm. I've been out here for nearly five hours!"

Boxhall laughed. "You better be prepared to wait. Knowing Murdoch, this will take a while."

Lightoller shook his head, a smile playing on his lips, but didn't say anything.

"C'mon," Harold said, motioning toward the other sides of the decks. "Let's see if we can find the others."

The three men began walking around the bridge, asking the other crewmembers if they had seen Murdoch. They found themselves nearing the spot where the deck descended down towards the lower classes. Moody was found finishing up his rounds by the stairs and eagerly joined them.

"Doing your rounds during dinner hours are bloody hell," Moody grumbled as they rounded the corner. "Everyone's inside and there are no pretty girls to look at it!"

Harold rolled his eyes. "My God, James, you're a pig!"

Moody chuckled. "I'm not a pig! I'm just honest!"

Harold was about to say something witty back when he noticed a figure down on the lower decks.

It was a young woman in a bright, blue dress. He would tell she must have just come from the third class party far below deck. Her cheeks were flushed and her brown hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders. He would've continued on with the other officers if her eyes hadn't of met his.

He recognized her instantly. She was the maid with the dazzling blue eyes he'd helped board earlier that afternoon. He had been thinking about her since he had first seen her, but now that he was seeing her in flesh and blood, he wasn't quite sure what to do.

"Oi! Lowe! Keep up!"

He ignored Boxhall's call and stared at her for just an instant longer. Her expression was difficult to read from so far away. He wondered if perhaps he should go meet her, pretending he was on his rounds.

He shook his head and ran after Boxhall's voice. He'd see her again. It was a ship after all. It's not like they wouldn't come across each other eventually.

They found the rest of the officers by the entrance into the Grand Staircase by the lifeboats. Murdoch checked his pocket watch, clicking his tongue at their tardiness.

"Glad you could join us, lads," he said with coldness in his voice, turning on his heels and leading the group of officers down to the third class decks.

"I swear he thinks we're like lost puppies," Boxhall muttered under his breath to Harold. They lingered behind the group, half listening as Murdoch explained where the divisions between classes were on the decks.

"He's just paranoid," Harold said, holding on tight to his hat as a gust of wind blew around them. "We _do_ have the owner of the White Star Line on board, you know. Everything has to run smoothly."

Boxhall sighed and lowered his voice as Murdoch began to explain for the millionth time how to operate the lifeboats. "I just don't understand this need for ultimate perfection. It seems as if we're going out of our way to please one man. I've heard even John Jacob Astor has praised the ship for its luxuries!"

"Boxhall, Lowe, pay attention or I'll extend your rounds!"

The two men lowered their heads but smiled when they caught each other's eyes. Murdoch released them to their duties after a final lecture and Moody and Boxhall bid Harold goodnight. He soon found himself standing alone in the middle of the second-class decks with no sound except for the waves lapping against the mighty ship. He could feel the ship breathing beneath his feet as it rocked from side to side. Its engine was pulsing life into _Titanic_ as it hummed below deck. After so many years of sailing, the world felt strangely silent and still without the buzz and hum of an engine beneath his feet.

He looked to the deck below, which led to the _Titanic_'s stern. It was packed with benches for the third class passengers. Their deck area wasn't lined with cushioned lounge chairs and potted plants. Although _Titanic_ was the most luxurious ocean liner in the White Star Line, Ismay had instructed the ship's designer, Thomas Andrews, that they were to only have the basic essentials for the third class passengers. His eye wandered to the stern of the ship where the British flag was fluttering furiously in the wind. A couple of teenage boys were leaning far over the edge, nudging each other and cracking jokes. Their laughter rang all the way to the second-class decks and he was about to tell them to quiet down when something stopped him in his tracks.

"Harold!"

He knew immediately it wasn't anybody on the crew. Everyone working on the ship only ever referred to him as "Lowe." He raised an eyebrow and quickly turned, finding himself nose to nose with a short man with light, red hair and freckles that decorated every inch of his face. He had a crooked, yellow smile and seemed undisturbed by the close distance between them.

"Can I help you?" Harold asked, clearing his throat and taking a step back. The man continued to smile and extended a pudgy hand.

"You remember me, don't you, chap?" the man inquired, taking off his bowler hat and nervously rotating it in his hands when Harold didn't move. "I'm Aeron Glyn! We grew up together in Eglwys Rhos."

Harold furrowed his brow, trying to think back. He tried his best now as an adult to not remember his childhood as much as possible. He was ashamed of his actions as a teenager and what he did to his family.

His mind wandered to his old schoolroom, lined with dirty tables and chairs and a chalkboard that hadn't been washed in years. He remembered he was standing at the board, wincing every time he spelled a word wrong and his teacher would whack his hand with her wooden ruler.

_"Elephant," Mrs. Gwynn droned behind him, menacingly turning her ruler in her hand._

_ Harold was shaking slightly. He was barely ten years old and his knuckles were already bright red. He hadn't done his homework the night before, for he had spent his afternoon on Mr. Martyn's fishing boat and had returned home late enough to earn a bath and a spanking from his mother. His eyes wandered aimlessly around the board, his heart racing as he tried to remember from the lesson yesterday._

_ "E – L – E-"_

_ He paused. His mind went blank and his breathing increased as he tried to keep a straight face to not give away that he had no idea what he was doing. _

Was it F?_ he thought. He couldn't remember the combination of letters that made the "f" sound. F would be the easiest answer but it couldn't possibly be right._

_ He looked over his shoulder at his class. Mary, his crush who had long, blonde hair plaited into two braids, was staring at him with her large, green eyes. He felt beads of sweat begin to form on his brow as he saw her watching him._

_ "Mr. Lowe, we're waiting."_

_ He bit his lip, staring at the blotched chalkboard in front of him. He slowly began to draw a straight line to draw the letter F—_

_ "E-L-E-P-H-A-N-T!"_

_ Harold and the teacher whipped around, curious to see who had come to his rescue. In the back of the classroom, a small boy with fiery red hair was standing up. His glasses sat crooked on his nose and his fists were clenched at his side, shaking slightly._

_ "Aeron Glyn," Mrs. Gwynn said with a frown on her face. "You are _not_ in a position to finish Harold's spelling word. To the board please."_

_ Aeron, who was a couple years behind Harold, pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose and walked to the board, chewing on his lip. Harold was baffled by this boy's actions. He had never spoken to him in his life; he'd even left him standing by himself when his classmates had picked teams for football._

_ "Aeron," Mrs. Gwynn said, "Since you are so confident in your spelling abilities, please spell 'breakwater.'"_

_ Aeron's face went pale white, just as Harold's had just a few minutes before._

Why hadn't she given me that word?_ Harold thought. 'Breakwater' was a term Mr. Martyn had often used to describe the way the water broke around the base of his boat when they were fishing together._

_ "Breakwater," Mr. Martyn had said with a gleam in his eye earlier that month. "All of us encounter breakwater in our lives. Everything in our life is going on as normal and suddenly something happens or someone comes along who disturbs the surface and you find yourself changed, just as this water after my boat passes through it."_

_ Aeron picked up a piece of chalk, chewing on both his lips by now. He brought his hand up to the board and began to write._

_ B-R-A-K-E-_

_ He paused and hung his head in shame. He didn't know and Harold felt a twinge of guilt as Mrs. Gwynn smiled._

_ "Not as smart as you think, Aeron? In the corner. Hopefully next time you'll learn to keep your thoughts to yourself in class when you haven't been called upon."_

_ In one swift movement, Harold snatched the chalk from Aeron's hand and erased what he had written._

_ B-R-E-A-K-W-A-T-E-R_

_ Harold confidently wrote on the board, nearly slamming the piece of chalk down on Mrs. Gwynn's desk. She was fuming as she snapped her spelling book shut._

_ "Both of you, outside," she growled. "I will deal with you two after the lesson."_

_ They sat on the steps outside of the schoolroom. Harold watched the town go on with their business, hardly noticing the two boys who weren't in class. He thought about making a run for it, but the sight of Aeron next to him, hands clasped together as he waited for their punishment, prompted him to stay._

_ "Why?" Harold blurted out._

_ Aeron looked up in surprise, almost as if shocked that Harold was actually talking to him._

_ "Why what?" he responded._

_ "We've never talked before," Harold said, standing up and crossing his arms. "I've never even been nice to you. Why are you helping me?"_

_ Aeron shrugged, pushing his shaggy red hair from his eyes. "I guess I just want to be your friend.'_

_ Harold rolled his eyes. "I don't believe you. If you wanted to be my friend, why didn't you just talk to me?"_

_ Aeron's eyebrows furrowed together and his smile turned into a scowl._

_ "I would, but your friends are all arses."_

_ Harold felt another twinge of guilt as he remembered leaving him out when they picked teams._

_ "Look, Aeron, you're a nice chap, but I just don't think you'd fit in with my friends."_

That had been nearly twenty years ago. Mrs. Gwynn had given them both a good spanking, but after that the two never spoke again. Harold had certainly crushed Aeron with that last comment that day and afterwards, Aeron stopped trying to join the other children in their games during lunch.

After he ran away and crushed his father's dreams of becoming a businessman, Harold had read in a letter from his sister that Aeron had been the one to take his apprenticeship. Now, staring into this young man's eyes, he saw everything he could've been if he had stayed. Aeron was wearing a fine suit, a new gat, and a silver pocket watch hung from his vest. His shaggy hair had been cut clean and a neatly trimmed mustache sat on his upper lips. He looked every part a businessman, which is what Harold's father had dreamed his son to be.

"Aeron!" he exclaimed, hiding his guilt behind his smile. "How are you, old chap? How's the bracket business making out?"

The man laughed, taking off his hat. "Fine, fine, although it's slow with no war. Who knows, maybe the Russians will be asking for business soon to help aid the Revolution!"

They both chuckled, but an awkward silence fell between them. Harold's presence was the elephant in the room, as he had not returned home since he ran away. His letters to his sister were the only communication he kept with his family and hometown.

Aeron cleared his through, rustling through his pockets.

"What brings you to _Titanic_?" Harold asked, trying to ease the tension.

"Oh, we've made a contract with some Americans. I believe in Boston. Mr. Lowe-"

He paused as Harold's eyes lit up at the mention of his father.

"Yes, your father wanted me to close the deal personally. He would've gone himself, but his health is getting the best of him lately."

Harold smiled, remembering how active his father used to be. He used to walk to all of his business meetings instead of taking the family's buggy.

Aeron produced a small, white envelope from his coat pocket. He held it out to Harold, who took it questioningly. As he turned it over in his hands, he saw "Harold Lowe" scribbled on the front and he immediately recognized the handwriting.

"I apologize for this being the time to give this to you," Aeron said, pulling his coat tighter around himself. "I didn't know if we would bump into each other again. It's from your father. I don't know what's in it but he requested I give this to you."

Harold stared at the envelope blankly, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Thank you," he managed to spit out.

Aeron nodded and silence fell between them again. The wind picked up and the both shivered in the cold.

"Well," Aeron said, his face turning red as he found an excuse to leave. "I better be off, don't want to be in bed too late!"

"Right, mate," Harold said, stuffing the envelope into his pocket and shaking hands with him. "Thanks for the visit. I'll see you around, yeah?"

Aeron smiled before scurrying inside. Harold stared after him, only moving after he heard the door shut. He let out a long breath of air and turned to look around him. The decks were nearly deserted as all the passengers were beginning to go to bed. Seeing no one was around, he began to run to the bow.

He caught himself on the railing, his hat nearly flying off his head as he leaned over the side. The breakwater churned into white foam as the _Titanic_ parted the water like Moses. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, the sea breeze cleansing his lungs and waking him up.

He reached into his pocket, feeling the smooth envelope between his fingertips. He bit his lip, his heart racing. He took it out and used his pocketknife to slice it open. A smooth piece of stationary fell out onto the deck, Harold catching it before it blew out into the ocean. With shaking hands, he slowly unfolded it and steadied his feet as he began to read.

_My dearest son,_

_ It has now been fifteen years since I have seen your face. Your sister keeps the family updated on how you are doing but I wanted to write myself. I apologize for giving this to you through Mr. Glyn. I didn't know if I would have an opportunity like this again. I am writing to propose you an offer._

_ Your younger brother has decided to not go into the family business and has gone to join the Royal Navy. It is just me, your mother, and your other sisters who will not be a part of the company._

_ My son, I am asking that after all this time you will come home to your family and fulfill the job and duty that has always been set out for you. You were barely 14 when you left home and you were acting on impulses. If you come home I can offer you a stable job with good pay. You will be able to settle down, have a family of your own, and after I die __you__ will be head of the bracket business and one of the most powerful men in the town._

_ I understand I am asking a lot of you, but you are my eldest son and the family's only chance of the business staying where it belongs: in the family. Without you, we will either have to declare bankruptcy or be sold._

_ I hope to hear from you soon._

_ Regards,_

_ Your father_

Harold was sweating by the time he got to the end. He usually didn't get seasick but he couldn't help but let all his emotions bubble up inside of him. He threw himself over the railing and vomited.

Panting, he drew himself back over and looked to see if anyone had seen his sickness. The only people on deck were a handful of crewmen winding rope together on the deck above. He folded the letter up in his hands, his heart pounding and his breathing shaky. He couldn't steady himself. Almost fifteen years with no contact and now he held a letter from his father begging for his return home. What had shocked him the most in the letter was that his younger brother had decided to not follow in their father's footsteps. Since Harold had been a boy, he knew his brother had been jealous of his apprenticeship. He thought his running away would have been the perfect opportunity for his brother to take his place.

He almost threw the letter over the side of the ship, but something in his father's offer stopped him. The family business had been the means of the Lowes' life for nearly five generations. If he didn't return, it would either collapse at his father's death or be bought out by someone else. But this wasn't the main reason that kept the letter clutched in his hands.

It was the sentence that read "_You will be able to settle down, have a family of your own…_" Harold read the line over and over until his father's handwriting was engraved in his mind.

Harold was young, only 29, but he knew in a few years' time he would be expected to find a wife. Many of his friends at his age were already engaged or married. He was excited for marriage: the idea of having someone there as his partner by his side comforted him greatly. But he did _not_ like the idea of being a married seaman. He would never be home, he wouldn't see his children grow up, nights most men would spend in their beds with their wife he would spend sleeping on a cot in a ship, merely dreaming of her instead of being with her. He was most certainly torn. He loved the sea, it was the one place he truly felt at home, but he didn't see how he could remain at sea without being a bachelor. His choice was either to remain at sea or to settle down and have a family.

He shoved the letter back into his pocket, deciding he would worry about it after his rounds when he would be alone in his room. He found himself standing on the same spot where he had been earlier that night with Lightoller and Boxhall. He looked below to where the girl with the blue eyes had been standing and up above where the first class decks were. He knew Lightoller was somewhere on the third class decks, patrolling to make sure there weren't any troublemakers. Because Moody and he were the youngest officers with the least amount of experience, Murdoch had assigned them to the first class decks because there would be an unlikelier chance they would have to report someone to the master-at-arms. Since it was drawing near midnight, Harold knew there would hardly be any passengers wandering the decks, including lower class passengers that may want to sneak a peak at the first class luxuries.

_ I'll go down to steerage just for a moment_, he thought while opening the gate that separated the lower decks from second-class. He found himself standing in the same spot the girl had been a few moments before. He rested his hands on the railing, just where hers had been. He looked out at the ocean, trying to imagine what she had been doing out here so late at night.

He caught himself in his actions. What on earth was he doing? He had never even talked to this girl and yet he found himself with an obsession for her that was getting slightly strange and out of hand. He let go of the railing and backed up to look at the stars. Now that they were far away from the shore, hundreds of stars were visible. He didn't pay very much attention to the astronomy Mr. Martyn had taught him, but he could recognize at least six or seven popular constellations that he never though he'd be able to see outside of a textbook.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Mr. Lightoller round the corner and head his direction. Not wanting to be caught, he dashed his way through gate after gate until he was back in the first class decks. He checked his pocket watch and saw that he still had ten minutes until midnight.

It was going to be a long shift.

* * *

**Please rate and review guys! The more reviews I get the sooner I'll put the next chapters up.**

**I have two questions for you guys relating to the story and I would love to hear your opinions on them!**

**1. Is the story moving too slowly? This story my main goal is to really develop my characters well and ensure they have a clear back story. However, I don't want to put you guys to sleep with all the details! If you want more action, let me know and I'll make it happen!**

**2. Are you enjoying the way the chapters are ending? Do you prefer cliff hangers or do you like everything being summed up? I'm the type of person that does not enjoy waiting a whole week to know what's going to happen next, but I understand that's what keeps readers coming back for more so let me know what interests you!**

**Thanks for your opinions guys! I'll be back with a chapter next week where Ellen and Harold will FINALLY talk face to face! Huzzah!**

**-Grace**


End file.
